


Have Some Toast

by AvaKelly



Series: Bits and Pieces [22]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: First Kiss, Getting Together, M/M, Steve is a little shit, sleepy Clint
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-15
Updated: 2017-12-01
Packaged: 2018-06-02 10:41:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6563080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvaKelly/pseuds/AvaKelly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Have a threesome."<br/>"What?!"<br/>"I said, have some toast."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 49

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! o/  
> I know I posted this [on tumblr](http://intermittently-ava.tumblr.com/post/142590966882/have-some-toast), but I thought the folk without a penchant for it might wanna read it here. :)  
> ~  
> Some news on Nameless: the week before last was so incredibly crappy, that I have spend this past week trying to recover from that. So all I've managed to write has been fluff. Therefore, hold onto your seats for some one shots later tonight :)

Clint is a very sleepy-zombie when he wakes in the morning, but whenever he goes to get some coffee, Steve's already in the kitchen, snarfing down delicious breakfast. Which he shares, of course, otherwise Clint wouldn't put up with his chatter so early in the morning. Today Steve talks about… uh, he hasn't been paying attention. The coffee maker is horribly slow. Almost like it's doing it on purpose.

"I need to meet more people, make more friends."

"Mhm." Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. "Come on, coffee."

"I read on the internet that guys have guy friends they do guy stuff with."

"Mhm." Drip. Drip. Drip.

"Go to a game."

"Mhm." Drip. Drip.

"See a movie."

"Mhm." Drip.

"Have a threesome."

"What?!"

"I said, have some toast."

"Yeah… thanks, Cap."

~

"Hawkeye, status," Steve's voice crackles over the comms.

"Bogies coming in from your three o'clock."

Clint shoots, mind still half fuzzy. He hasn't even had time to finish his first mug of coffee before the alarm sounded. Aw, coffee. It ended up spilling all over his t-shirt. And Steve had to leave all that incredible mouth-watering french toast behind… wait a minute.

"A threesome with who?"

Tony asks something, but Clint is too busy watching Steve trip and fall, barely saving himself from planting face down on the pavement by rolling on his shield.

A delicate cough comes through the earpiece.

"You, me, and the toast?"

Clint grins. "Let's make it a foursome and add some coffee to it."

"I feel so left out right now," Tony's voice drifts over, followed by Natasha's "Fight now, fuck later."

Joking like this is quite satisfying, Clint's missed it.

~

That's why he doesn't expect Steve to actually follow through.

"Forty eight," Steve says when he joins Clint in the armory as they put away their gear.

"Huh?"

"That's exactly how many innuendos I tried on you."

Clint pauses, then turns to face Steve. "What?"

"If it got to fifty Natasha said she'd tell you."

"Tell me what?"

And now Steve's close, when did he get so close, when did his eyes get that color, and he still smells like breakfast and coffee and…

"This."

… and his lips are better. Way better.

They taste like love. Toast. Clint meant toast.

~End~


	2. 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> felicitysmoakqueen gave me ideas. *cough*

Clint yawns, pressing the knuckles of both fists over his open mouth, then rubs at his face, somehow managing to mess up his hair in the process. Steve wonders briefly how Clint's hair would look between his fingers, then how other parts of Clint—he clears his voice and tries to clear his head, too.

This is not the time for that. It's been a long day, they're sweaty and dirty and bruised. Nat yawns too, next to him, then extends her legs to rest her ankles on the empty chair across from her. They're waiting in the quinjet for Tony and Rhodes to return from their last sweep of the area, making sure there are no people trapped in the debris.

Clint yawns again, groaning in a way that's more of a moan than anything, and it goes straight to Steve's impulsive side.

"Tired, Clint?" he asks, barely holding back the amusement.

With a slow blink, Clint nods.

"You must be," Steve replies, "since you've been running around my mind all day."

Another blink, this one more alert, is followed by a dust of pink on Clint's cheeks. Maybe this time is the time Clint figures it out, or Steve will soon run out of cheesy one liners. Next to him, Natasha lifts her head. Clint looks at them, then at the floor, then outside through the open back door.

"Yeah," he finally says, "sorry about that, didn't mean to worry you. But I'm fine, it was a calculated risk."

Natasha's snort is so soft, that it's barely there, but the shaking of her shoulders is not. Steve refrains from rolling his eyes. Yes, he saw Clint jump off that crumbling building. Yes, his heart stopped in his chest for a moment. But this is Clint and he had a line, plus Tony nearby, it was more synchronized that usual.

"I'm glad you're ok," Steve says instead of anything else.

That earns him a pleased smile, even though Clint tries to hide it against his own shoulder.

When Steve looks at Natasha, she shakes her head at him.

Steve sighs while she marks 'attempt 37 failed' on her phone.

~


	3. 18 & 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is silly. *cough*

Steve huffs at his phone in annoyance. All the damn websites are saying the same stupid things. He sets the phone down a little too forcibly. From the corner of his eye, he sees Clint stroll toward the outer deck, carrying a suspicious carton box.

By the time Steve catches up with him, Clint has a harness on and is uncoiling rope from the box.

"Hey, Clint," Steve says. "What'cha doing?"

This smells like a kicking and screaming trip to medical soon. Better nip it in the bud.

"Hey," Clint returns. "Trying to prove a point."

When nothing else follows, Steve waves a hand in question. Clint looks at his hand, then at his face a couple of time in quick succession.

"Oh," he says, "I'm proving I can get in the lab."

He then turns and starts stretching. To the side, the other side, arms up, then he bends—Steve clears his throat.

"Ok, please don't hurt yourself."

"Aw you know me," Clint grins cheekily, then steps toward the ledge.

"At least your ass looks great in that gear," Steve mutters.

"What was that?" Clint asks, without watching where he's going.

"I said you're as good at breaking and entering as Natasha is," he corrects.

Clint's grin widens and he salutes with two fingers before letting himself fall off the roof with a twist of his entire body. The rope shifts with great speed and Steve walks to the edge in time to see Clint bounce against the harness.

"Ow," Clint yelps. "My ass."

"I can make it better," Steve yells at him.

"Don't need medical, thanks," Clint shouts back.

Steve half laughs, half groans at the sky.

~


	4. 42

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The best part of this came from Tanouska :D who is a ray of sunshine on cloudy days, but not those fake rays reflected by other buildings. :D

"But Taaash," Clint whines for the eight time in just as many minutes, "what if my hand falls off?"

"It's just a papercut," Nat tells him, eyes firmly set on her book.

She is curled up on the far side of the sofa, on Clint's right, but Steve can still see her from his spot on the left because Clint's slouch is so over the top, he's halfway to the floor already.

"Tash, please, look, is it getting infected?"

"Show Steve," she says and Steve throws her a glare that he's pretty sure hasn't gone unnoticed even though she hasn't moved.

Clint doesn't need telling twice. He swivels toward Steve and extends his thumb. "Is it bad—it's bad, isn't it? Aw, thumb. Please don't go," Clint focuses on his digit, shifting to hold it in front of his own face.

"You're gonna be fine," Steve says.

Clint gasps audibly, eyes widening. "There's blood now!"

"Come on," Steve groans. "Just put it in your mouth and suck on it."

A few moments pass in which Steve realizes with a small but important delay what sort of opportunity has presented itself here. Clint, though, makes a sour face at the thumb.

"That never works," Clint replies with a sad headshake, "the pain is still there, eternal and unerase—"

"Sucking is a distraction, even if the pain doesn't fade," Steve says. "Need a demonstration? You can even pick where."

Clint grimaces at his hurt thumb. "I only have _one_ injury, I'm not _that_ clumsy—ow!"

The smack Nat has just applied to the back of Clint's head somehow resounds louder than it should around the room.

"Here's another one," she grits.

With a heavy sigh and scoff that blend together in Clint's unique style, he stands and walks away. "Meanies," he shouts from the hallway.

Nat leans back, reopens her book.

"That wasn't the head I wanted to suck on," Steve mutters.

She turns a page, tilting her head to read from the top.

"Forty two," she says.

Steve sighs.

 


	5. 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone  
> So I'm trying to do Nanowrimo to get myself back on track with writing. A single 50k goal is too overwhelming right now, so I'll try to set myself daily word counts. Today it was 500 words and here is the result! Enjoy and crossing fingers that I can keep it up :)

Steve takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself. His wooing of Clint hasn't been working well so far. He's not as smooth as Bucky used to be—never was, really—and he either doesn't remember his best lines right, or the times have changed so much that they're flying over Clint's head. Thus, the ever-helpful internet has been his first choice for inspiration. Today is the day he tests that information. 

It's late afternoon when JARVIS lets Steve know that Clint is around, lounging in his purple sweats, munching on doritos—there's a joke there that Steve hasn't figured out yet, but that's ok, he has time—almost upside down on the sofa. Tony'll love the crumbs. 

With a wave at Clint, Steve slides down onto the sofa. "Hey," he says.

Clint gestures back with orange fingers, then sucks on his thumb. Hard. Steve clears his throat. 

"'sup, Cap?" 

"Me, a little bit," Steve mutters.

"What?"

"Where's everyone?" he asks, louder this time.

"Uh." Clint lifts himself haphazardly onto an elbow, looks around as if he can see the entirety of the floor through the walls. "Out? No idea." He turns to Steve. "How was the mission?"

"Pretty good," Steve says, wiping his hands on his knees. "Yours?"

"Boring," Clint huffs and sprawls back down, a little closer to Steve this time. 

Steve's fingers twitch, so he stretches an arm over the back of the couch and shoves the other hand under his thigh. He tips his chin at the movie running silently on the TV on the other side of the room. "What's that?"

"No idea," Clint says and follows with a loud crunch. 

"You're not watching?"

"Nah, just sitting here."

Once more, Clint sucks the cheese residue off his fingers, popping each one with obvious satisfaction. Steve swallows. 

"When's your debrief?" he asks Clint. 

"Already had it."

"So you're free?"

Clint stretches until he can set the bag down on the floor, but ends up with his head hanging off the side of the sofa and one leg thrown over the backrest. Steve expects him to crumple to the floor any moment now. 

"Mh, yeah. Why?"

Ok, this is it. His chance. Steve puts on his best smirk. 

"Well," he says, "I was wondering if you have a few minutes for me to hit on you."

Clint scrunches his forehead and squints his eyes. "Nghaww," he moans, "I don't wanna spar right now."

Steve stills, replaying that in his mind, while Clint wiggles and shifts until the top of his head butts against Steve's thigh. 

"Later?" Clint continues, sounding pleading, and of course. 

A small laugh leaves Steve along with all his nervousness. "Sure, later," he agrees. 

"After a nap," Clint tells him, eyes closing. 

And Steve does the only thing he  _ can _ do right now. That is to pet Clint's hair and stay where he is while Clint scoots closer again, until his head's in Steve's lap. Well, maybe there were other things Steve could've done, but this is the second best outcome of his attempt. 

The movie on screen against Clint's soft even breaths catches his attention for a while and Steve wonders how nice would it be to cuddle a sleepy Clint in the morning. Maybe next time will be luckier, he thinks and pulls out his phone for more research. 

~


	6. 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone o/  
> Another small writing to lure the muses closer.   
> Have an awesome weekend there!

Steve sighs with boredom. It's the fourth covert infiltration mission their team is doing and once more he is delegated to the sidelines. Not because he wouldn't be able to pull it off, but because he'd be recognized. The media recently got a hold of a clear photo of him and Tony, thus restarting another frenzy of romantic entanglements. It amuses Tony to no end, and it's funny, sure, but now Steve has to lay low until his face isn't plastered on every tv screen and web page out there. Nat's giving it another week or so, but Steve is starting to lose patience. 

The only upside to this whole thing has been watching  _ this _ . 

Clint strips out of a navy suit to try the grey one Nat's holding out for him. A few more seconds and Clint stands there in boxers. Steve's mouth waters when he stretches, and then Steve has to clear his throat when Clint tries to shimmy into clearly too small pants. His ass is swinging left and right and—Oh heck. She's doing it on purpose, given the way she smirks at Steve. 

Clint huffs, giving up. "You gave me the wrong size," he tells Nat.

"Did I," she says, feigning innocence. 

Clint narrows his eyes at her, opens his mouth, only to be hit in the face with another pair. 

"Sorry," Nat adds, but Clint is now preoccupied with inspecting the new pants. 

They're the tight kind of pants. What are people these days calling them? Ah, yeah. Skinny. More like a second layer of skin—ooh, so that's where the name comes from. Clint already looks good in boxers, but covering himself with only a thin piece of material would make his legs even more enticing, like hiding but not—Steve stops himself before his thoughts get too wild. 

"Tash, I don't think I can pull these off," he says, shaking his head. 

"I'll pull them off of you," Steve mutters. 

Clint twirls around, eyes Steve and the pants critically, in quick succession, and Steve holds his breath. 

"These could fit you," Clint finally says. "Don't you think so, Tash?"

Nat looks like it's painful to hold the laughter in, but she still says "Get a move on, Barton," with enough aggravation in her voice to spur Clint on. He's one leg in—back to Steve and bent just enough that Steve curses his talent to misunderstand—when he changes his mind and steps out of the pants. 

"Hang on," Clint tells Nat. "Why am I trying clothes on? You're going in, I'm just backup!"

Nat's laugh is so loud, that it startles Steve into falling off his chair.

~


End file.
